


Post Finals

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [278]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dorks in Love, M/M, Stanford Era, pre possession Brady
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: After finals, there's a certain level of energy expected. Namely, none. Lying in bed seems like a fine idea.





	

When Sam gets back to their room, Brady is face down on his bed. He’s awake–he never sleeps on his stomach, he snores when he sleeps, and he certainly doesn’t sleep with his shoes, shirt, and jeans on–but he looks all but unconscious.

Sam drops his bag–now empty, he sold his last textbook back on the way home–at the foot of his bed before moving over to nudge Brady. “You okay?” he asks.

Brady props himself up onto an elbow. “Sam!” he says. “You’re home. How was?”

Sam shrugs. Calculus _was_. It’s over now. “How was yours?”

Brady makes a long, dramatic groaning sound that somehow conveys his utter despair and how totally convinced he is that he’ll never get into medical school.

“I’m sure it was fine,” Sam says softly.

Brady nods, closing his eyes again. “Important thing is it’s over. And no one is gonna make me study anything until January.”

“You’re not leaving yet, right?” Sam checks.

“Monday,” Brady says, yawning. “Got the whole weekend with you, Sam. Whaddya want to do?”

Sam debates for a moment. There’s some sort of pre-law lunch thing he should maybe consider going to. Or else they should see what’s going on around campus before everyone leaves.

He kicks off his shoes. “Budge over,” he says, sliding into the bed beside Brady as soon as Brady makes space.

It’s tight, the two of them in the tiny twin bed together. It’s barely long enough for Sam, too. But they make it work.

Brady throws an arm around Sam’s waist. “Sleep,” he mumbles. “Good plan.”

“I always have good plans,” Sam reminds Brady, echoing an old joke.

“You always have boring plans,” Brady corrects. “ _We should study,_ and _we should sleep_  and _cake is not a meal_.”

“Are you arguing about sleep?” Sam asks, a little amused now.

“You’re keeping me up with your talking,” Brady mutters. 

“Sorry,” Sam says. He quiets, then, and lets Brady push even closer to him. They both pulled all-nighters the night before. Sam’s body well remembers how to work on no sleep, but Brady’s doesn’t. Hopefully, he never has to learn.

He’s obviously exhausted. Sam thinks he should be too. He’s not, though, or at least not in a way conducive to sleeping. Not yet. He needs to unwind a little bit first, drop the stress from the last exam, remind himself it’s time to relax. There’s really no better way to do that than right here, pressed up in this tiny little bed with Brady.

Brady starts to snore, and Sam thinks about the four days they have left. Tonight, he thinks they should maybe call for a pizza, something maintenance so they don’t have to leave the building. They can see if Brady’s TV, dropped once after an unfortunate night of Brady’s drunk flailing, will cooperate long enough to play a movie.

Then tomorrow they can sleep in. Go to the quad. Read books. Watch more movies.

Whatever, Sam thinks. They’ll figure it out later. Right now, he just wants to curl up with Brady and try to sleep.

He buries his head in the pillow and his face in Brady’s neck, closes his eyes, and sleeps, feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks.


End file.
